giving the people what they want

My legions of fans are crying and screaming for new posts, so I must oblige. Here's what's happened in a weeks span, after the painful random vagina experience. These events are not in chronological order (because I lack time/event coordination): I started guitar lessons, and have quickly given up all dreams of becoming the rock star I so desired to be. I painted my living room blue. Mid painting I developed pure hatred for the color, went to Home Depot, had them mix three gallons of what I realized afterward looked like baby poop, and hastily exited the premises without buying the poop paint. I went to Galaxy Highland, one truly upscale joint, and watched Wolverine/The Origins, which was AWESOME. I can totally understand feeling the need to go Sabertooth on some one's ass. As cheesy and unoriginal as this movie was, I got exactly what I expected out of it... some superb mutant butt kicking. I've been commissioned by my former boss for a piece of artwork that somehow incorporates the Red Sox logo. Even with prospect of money at the end of the journey I've been lacking the inspiration to put pen to paper. What to do, what to do. Oh yeah, now I also have six Spaniards sleeping all over my house. Literally, I woke up and they were scattered around like leaves. I opened the front door and there was a Spaniard bundled in a sleeping bag on the front porch! Yes, I live in the ghetto, but seriously, I don't want our house to be THAT trashy. My 1992 Subaru wagon with the rusted out door already classes the joint up enough. Which leads me to, who wants to host one clean quiet blogger girl this weekend? Or, alternatively, who wants to host six punk rock Spaniards with hygiene issues?